The Truth About ESPN
by techyeon
Summary: When Wilson gets his divorce, House neglects to notice, and so Cameron becomes his new best friend. Will House recognise his feelings or will it be Wilson and Cameron sitting in that tree? Last chapter now up. Enjoy!
1. THE TRUTH ABOUT ESPN

A/N- This is just a **re-load**! Sorry if I have disappointed anyone (I wish). Okay, so, I have re-read and edited this story so many times, my life has been taken over by Wilson, Cameron and House... not that that's a bad thing. Hopefully everything is fixed and okay, but if it's not... don't tell me. I took too long fixing it all up again... **Enjoy** (hopefully!), new readers, who I love!

PS- I also love **reviews**... the more the better... I'm so greedy.

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**CHAPTER ONE – THE TRUTH ABOUT ESPN**

"Knock knock," she pushed open his office door and tapped on it, verbalising the sounds in a sing song voice. He looked up from his charts and smiled.

"Hey, come in,"Wilson leant back in his chair and pushed his hair off his face. "How's it going?"

Cameronsmiled back and ventured into the room. "Good, good. I just wanted to see how you were doing. Are you okay?"

He sighed and his face adopted a defeated look. "Well, I _was_ trying to keep it so that the _whole_ hospital didn't find out…"

"No chance. We're our own community, there's too much in-house gossip for secrets."

He nodded. "Yeah, I guess… and speaking of House, did he tell you about this?"

"No. For once, I think he actually respected your wishes."

"Now why do I find that so hard to believe?"

"Because it's House. Respecting people isn't his thing. Neither is keeping secrets." She sat down in the chair opposite him and crossed her ankles, smoothing out her lab coat. "Actually, this time it was Cuddy. She sent me here to check on you."

"Cuddy? How does she know?"

"Well, I think we've established by now that everyone knows about your divorce. Or if they don't, they could easily guess by the way you've locked yourself in here, all day, in the dark."

He grimaced. "Yeah, that is a bit of an indication, isn't it?"

She spoke softly. "What happened?"

"If you were wondering, I didn't cheat. Not this time. This time Boy Wonder kept it in his pants." He paused and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I really thought that this time, she would be, you know, The One, or whatever. You know, third time lucky and all… I guess I was wrong."

"I guess," was all she said, before waiting for him to continue.

"Maybe… maybe I'm just not supposed to be happy," he mused. Maybe it's my fate to be miserable and alone." He finally looked up at her. "_I_ didn't cheat on _her_ this time, unless you count the hospital… _She _cheated on _me_. With some guy she met _shopping_."

"Shopping?"

"Yeah, that's what I said. _Shopping_. This must be how my other wives felt… Used and stupid and insignificant and betrayed… man, I'm a bastard."

"So's the other guy," she said sympathetically.

"Don't try to make me feel better – I don't deserve it. I'm not trying to get your sympathy, I'm trying to tell you what happened, to get it out and just…"

"Hey, it's okay. Keep going."

"I mean, I _know_ I'm the bad guy. I could feel our relationship changing, I could feel us growing apart, but I just… I ignored it, just spent more time at the hospital. I left her plenty of time and opportunity to find Shopping Guy…" He groaned and reached up to rub at his stiff shoulders.

"Sore?" she asked, concerned.

"Yeah, I've been spending the last couple of nights here."

"What? You can't keep sleeping here! Why didn't you tell someone?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Who? House? He's dealing with his own crap right now, he couldn't give a damn about mine!"

"Well, me then," she said indignantly.

"You? What would you have done?"

"Invited you over to my house to sleep on the couch," she said, a matter-of-factly.

"Really? Seriously? Even with my… reputation?"

She rolled her eyes. "Please, Wilson, when have I ever been one to work off reputations? If I had, I would never have applied for House's fellowship, I would have stayed with someone boring, but safe, like Yule, or something. Reputations don't really mean much to me."

"People will talk. They see us together, they'll automatically assume we're an item… you said yourself how much of a gossip mill it is around here."

Her eyes flashed with her characteristic fire. "So? Who cares? Let people talk. At least then we'll have livened up their lives a little."

He cocked his head to the side as he considered her offer. "Are you really sure? I mean, if House gets wind of this, he'll never leave us alone."

"So? I don't care. I'm sick of doing things all the time with House in mind. There are other people in my life aside from him. I have other friends, and if one of them needs something, I'm not just gonna let them go wanting because of him!"

He looked at her admiringly and nodded slowly. "Okay. Thanks. I think I might take you up on it."

"Great," she said, beaming at him. "I'll swing by your office again later and lead the way to my apartment."

"Great. See you then."

Cameron stood and smiled at him one last time, before nodding and leaving the room.

James again leant back his chair, though he was a little less pensive and upset than before. He was looking forward to a nice, long, hot shower, a proper home-cooked meal and a comfortable night's sleep.

* * *

Unlocking the door, she pushed it open and dropped her bag onto the bamboo stand near her door. "Welcome to my humble abode." 

He followed her in, closing the door after him. He surveyed the room and carefully set his briefcase on the floor next to the wooden coffee table as she moved into the kitchen.

"Nice," he approved. "This is great, Allison. Cosy. Tasteful."

"You know, you're like the only person who calls me that," she called.

He inspected a photo in her bookcase, picking it up and squinting at it. "What, tasteful?"

"No," she said, returning with two glasses of white wine. He returned the frame and took a glass. "Allison. I think I'm actually more used to Cameron. I actually get a bit of a shock when someone calls me Allison. For some reason it seems… oh, I don't know…"

"Unnatural?" Wilson offered.

She nodded. "Yeah. Unnatural."

"Same thing happens with me. James sounds alien, from another life. Julie was the only was the only one to call me James… So I guess it applies even more so, now…"

They both stood, silent, absorbed in their own thoughts until Wilson shook his head and took a sip of his wine.

"I'm sorry, I keep getting all self-deprecating and depressed." He moved over and sat on the couch, flopping down and jarring his shoulders.

"Ow," he complained, again attempting to rub them one-handed.

Cameron put down her drink and moved up behind him, removing his hand and replacing it with her own. She pinched the rock-hard muscle between her fingers, massaging it and attempting to relieve some of his pain. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the backwards-forwards motion her rubbing had on his body.

"Aaah…" he sighed. "You really know what you're doing!"

"I took some classes once. My husband… Ben. He was into all of it."

Wilson opened his eyes and indicated towards the picture he had been looking at. "That him?"

"Yeah. That's us, on our honeymoon."

"He loved you. You can see it in his eyes."

"Yeah."

The rubbing on his shoulders began to get rougher and more painful, and he could tell he had hit a nerve. He racked his brains for a change in subject before she ripped his shoulders off, but she seemed to realise what she was doing and slowed down a little.

"Sorry."

He relaxed again, letting his head loll forward. "No problem," he murmured.

She kneaded at his neck for several minutes in silence before Wilson finally spoke.

"Cameron, I just wanna thank you again for letting me stay. I really appreciate it."

"No problem," she responded. "And you can stop thanking me now. Instead, tell me what you want for dinner."

"Why don't you tell me? I'll cook for you tonight."

She paused slightly. "Really? I mean, can you even cook?"

He stopped her hands with his own and turned to look incredulously at her. "Can _I _cook? I'm one of the best cooks I know!"

Cameron smiled. "Yeah, and modest too."

He stood up and pointed at her. "Just you wait. Whatever you have in the fridge, I'll make something delicious from it, guaranteed." He made his way into the kitchen and opened the fridge door, rummaging around inside. "Now, what do we have here… aha…"

Cameron trailed after him and leant on the counter. "You don't have to do this, you know."

"Yeah," he pulled out spring onions and cream, "I do. Just because I'm… do you have any… no, it's okay, I got it…" he pulled out some bacon and straightened, closing the fridge door with his foot. Placing the items on the bench, he searched through her drawers for a sharp knife and began to skin and cut the spring onions. "Just because I'm bumming off you, it doesn't mean I can't contribute." He looked up at her and smiled. "I refuse to sit around and do nothing while you do everything. What kind of guest would I be?"

"You know what your problem is, _James_?" she stressed his name to prove her earlier point. "You are too damn nice."

"The same could be said about you, _Allison_… Pots?" he asked questioningly.

She pointed to the correct cupboard and watched as he deposited two pots on the counter, putting the onions in one and filling the other up with water.

"Oil?"

She went into the kitchen and handed him the oil, before presenting him with a packet of spaghetti.

He raised an eyebrow. "How'd you know?"

"ESPN."

He snickered and resumed his recipe, adding oil to the onion. "Would you mind cutting the bacon into squares?"

"Sure." She got a cutting board and knife and began her duties. "So… who taught you to cook?"

"Which wife you mean? None. My father. He may have been a strict Jew, but he made a mean pumpkin pie."

"Speaking of Jewish, shouldn't you be avoiding the bacon?"

"I should have avoided three divorces, too, but somehow I just can't seem to stop," he joked darkly, putting the pot onto a flame. "No, ever since I left home I haven't been kosher."

She snorted and added some bacon to the pot. "Not big on religion, huh? Me neither."

"I guess it's just because my religion was so strict during my childhood, I wanted to break away from it, experience something different for myself."

"If you're not kosher, then why do you still call yourself a Jew?"

"Truth? Because if I'm not a Jew, then what am I?"

"What are you talking about? You're a doctor, an oncologist, the Head of Oncology at a well-renowned hospital! That's who you are!"

He shook his sadly and took all of the finished bacon from her, adding it to the mixture and stirring it. "Just wait until you've had more experience. Then you'll understand."

She frowned as he suddenly turned quiet and subdued, and she turned back to the lounge. "I'll set the table."


	2. BREAKFAST WITH WOMANLY ITEMS

Re-load of chapter 2... how exciting! Party-throwing worthy! Read on and liberate!

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**CHAPTER TWO – BREAKFAST WITH WOMANLY ITEMS**

"James? James, c'mon, you should get up…" She shook him lightly and he groaned and opened his eyes, blinking.

"Hey," he said sleepily. Was it the next morning already?

She smiled widely. "Hey, sleepy-head. It's time to wake up, or we'll be late." She stood and went into the kitchen. "Breakfast?"

"Um…" Wilson rubbed his eyes vigorously and sat up, stretching his legs out. "Would you mind if I had a shower first? I promise I'll be a lot more communicable."

"Sure. I got you out some towels, they're just on the sink. I'll have coffee ready when you get out."

Hauling himself up, he groaned again. There was a crick in his neck, where he had slept with his head on a ridiculous angle.

"How did you sleep?" Cameron asked him, returning to the lounge and chewing on a piece of toast. "Sorry if the couch isn't long enough."

Wilson warded off her concerns. "No, no, I'm very grateful. Beats my office any day."

She looked relieved. "Good. Great. Do you have a change of clothes?"

He looked down and saw that he had slept in his shirt and pants. "No," he admitted, yawning.

"No problem. We'll stop by your house on the way to work."

"We?"

"Yeah. Well, as long as you're staying here, there's really no point in taking both cars, is there? I mean, we pretty much have the same hours lately, so…"

"Yeah… okay, that sounds alright."

"Good," she said, pleased. "Now, you go and have your shower. My bathrobe used to be… well, it was Ben's. So it should fit you okay."

Unexpectedly, he approached her and put his arms around her, hugging her tight.

"Thanks," he whispered, before pulling away and going into the bathroom.

"You're welcome…" she responded to the empty room.

* * *

James shut the bathroom door and rested against it, closing his eyes. That had been weird. He hadn't hugged another person, actually done something physical with another person, in a long time. He had forgotten how good it felt to have tangible contact with another human being. The fact that it was Cameron, someone he had always found pleasurable (to talk to _and_ to look at), only made it better.

He didn't know what had compelled him to do it – perhaps it had been her niceness, her eagerness to help and look after him. No-one had tried to help him as much as she was. It was comforting, and flattering. It made him feel as if he was worth something… But those were thoughts for another time.

Opening his eyes, he surveyed her bathroom. It was exactly as he had expected: neat, tidy and girly. Perfume, creams and other womanly items lined the back of the sink, each one perfectly aligned with the wall. Knowing he probably shouldn't, he picked up the bottle of perfume and sniffed it. Yep, there it was… Cameron's distinctive smell; flowery, sweet and indescribably female. The towels she had promised him were sitting faithfully next to the sink.

Her shower was large and had a plastic holder for her body wash, shampoo and conditioner. He turned on the water and tested the pressure: it felt good. Strong and cleansing. A bit like Cameron herself.

Peeling his clothes off, he stepped in and sighed in relief, letting the water pound down on his sore neck and shoulders. As if by magic, he immediately felt some tension released, and he rolled his head from side to side, letting the water splash over his face.

He had no choice but to use her shower products and he grimaced slightly as he imagined what House's reaction would be like. He would definitely notice that Wilson smelt of her products: he was too observant not to. Then he would assume, if he hadn't already, that he and Cameron had had sex. Just like everyone else was bound to think.

He groaned and shook his head. That was too bad. What was done was done. He would just explain that he and Allison had done no such thing, and were not planning to do so in the near future, either. And then House wouldn't leave him alone for weeks.

He got out and dried himself before unhooking the bathrobe from the back of the door. It fit, a little bit snugly around his chest, but it covered everything imperative.

He turned on the fan to suck up some of the steam and mopped up any water he had spilt with one of his towels before hanging it to dry where the robe had been. Emerging from the bathroom drying his hair, he smelt the magnificent scent of real coffee being brewed.

"God, that smells good."

She was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and reading a book. She looked up at him. "Hey. How was your shower?" She put her book aside and got out a cup for him, filling it with the brown liquid and handing it to him.

"Fantastic. Your water pressure is amazing."

Suddenly, she laughed, and he took a sip of the coffee, frowning.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. It's just so weird to have you in my house talking about the water pressure of my shower. I mean, we've talked at the hospital, and helped each other, but we've never really… bonded, I guess, until now."

"Yeah. It's good," he ventured, hoping she didn't think he was attempting to cross a line.

"It is good." She smiled at him again and passed him a plate with a croissant on it. "Here. Thought you might be hungry."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."


	3. SHALL WE COMPARE NOTES?

You know the drill, blah blah blah... re-edited, blah blah blah... review, blah blah blah... enjoy, blah blah blah...

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**CHAPTER THREE – SHALL WE COMPARE NOTES?**

House stalked up to Wilson, where he stood conversing with an attractive blonde nurse. He interrupted them impatiently, a serious look on his face.

"Why did you and Cameron arrive together this morning?"

Wilson looked confused. "Why… did you arrive _alone_ this morning?" He turned to the nurse and shot her an apologetic look before heading towards the elevators. His friend followed him.

"Why didn't _you_ arrive alone? The question still stands."

Wilson sighed and turned to him, relenting. "I'm staying at her house."

"You're staying at her _house_?" he repeated, an incredulous look on his stubbled face.

"Yes, House, I'm staying at her… house. On her couch," he added.

House original shock wore off, and he quickly re-adopted his sarcastic tone. "Oh. You two get tired after a hard night's work and decide to slum it on the couch?"

James rolled his eyes, understanding the double meaning. "Allison and I—"

"Allison? So, you're on first-name basis. How cosy. Must be serious." He sniffed at his friend and observed, "You smell like her."

"_Allison_ and I did not have sex."

"Really? Your lethargy and black eyes say otherwise. The Boy Wonder, straying from his marriage! What a surprise! What would Julie say?"

"Julie would probably just laugh," Wilson muttered. He got into a newly arrived elevator car.

"At you sleeping with another woman? I highly doubt that."

Wilson held up his left hand as the elevator doors slowly closed. The ring finger was empty.

House raised his eyebrows. "On the other hand, if the ring fits…"

* * *

Chase approached her confidently, sauntering into the lab and leaning on the bench next to her.

Cameron looked up and smiled. "Hey. What's up?"

He gave her a cool look and picked up a petri dish, casually studying its contents. "So."

She nodded. "Yeah. So…"

He replaced the dish. "So. You and Wilson, huh?"

"What about us?"

"You two… going out?"

"No."

He waited, but she didn't divulge any more information. "Sex buddies? Weekend friends?" he prompted.

"If you like." She remained stoic and vague.

He launched himself away from the bench and growled in frustration. "Why won't you answer me properly?"

"Because I don't have to. It's none of your business what I do."

He nodded. "Yeah. Okay. I think I've finally figured you out. You're looking for a father figure, aren't you?" Sneered. "Daddy didn't like you, treated you like crap, or something, so you go for the older men, the ones who can comfort you, lull you into a false sense of security. But it didn't work, this time, did it? Because you've chosen two of the wrong older men – one's a depressed old bastard who treats you worse than his pet rat, and the other is serial cheater, who couldn't stay faithful if he was tied down for the rest of his life!"

Cameron clenched her fists and remained calm during his tirade, waiting for him to finally finish, when she stepped closer to him, hands on her hips. When she spoke her voice was low, and filled with venom.

"And I think I finally figured you out. You are a jealous, idiotic, possessive little boy! You're insecure, you're so unbelievably unsure of yourself that you need to constantly feel like you're needed, and loved. Who was the one whose father left? You. You are the one who's looking for someone, someone to comfort and reassure you, except you're looking for it in the form of a woman. And when that woman finally realises what a needy, snobby, ridiculously naïve little rich boy you are, she wants nothing more to do with you. And you get jealous. And you hate." She stepped closer to him and he flinched. "Well, let me tell you this: we had sex, once. I am _not_ your property. My purpose is not to make you feel better about yourself, or to satisfy you when you need something pretty to look at. I am my own person, I make my own decisions, and they are _mine_, not for you critique. I will see whoever I want, pine for whoever I want, and love whoever I want. Just know this." She stepped forward again, glaring and backing him into the wall. Her breath was hot on his face. "That person, the one I eventually end up with, will never be you. You are _nothing_ compared to House. Or Wilson, for that matter. _Nothing_. And you have no chance in hell. _Ever._ So get over it. Fast."

She gave him one last disgusted look and turned to the door, gasping slightly and reddening. House was standing there, leaning on his cane, a surprised look on his face. She smoothed down her hair and brushed past him like nothing was wrong.

House looked at Chase's humiliated and stunned face. "Dude. I think she's angry with you… Interesting."


	4. THE CHICKEN… OR THE EGGS…

Yay! Four! Need I say more? (Hey... I rhyme!)

**

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CHAPTER FOUR – THE CHICKEN… OR THE EGGS…**

"How many people asked you?" Wilson asked Cameron, approaching her as she waited by his car.

She smiled. "Including patients?"

"Let's leave it at hospital staff."

She cocked her head, considering, as he opened the car doors. "About ten."

"Ten? Only ten?" He swung into the car.

She laughed and got in as well, putting on her seatbelt. "Yeah, I know. It's a little disappointing. Obviously we're not as big news as we thought we were."

Wilson started the car and exited the car park. "Obviously. It's very disheartening."

"The most surprising thing was the lack of reaction from House. I mean, he must have heard, and it's against his nature not to stick his nose into it. But he didn't say anything."

"To you, maybe."

"Oh. He said something to you?"

"Uh… demanded to know what we were doing together. Whether we were having sex."

"And what did you tell him?"

"I said we've been making glorious love every night for the past two months. What do you think I told him? I said he had his wires crossed."

"And how did he react?" she asked hopefully.

He glanced at her. "I… really didn't notice…" he admitted.

She sagged slightly, her happiness level going down a few notches, and he groaned internally. Way to wreck a perfectly pleasant conversation.

"But something could have been there," he offered. "I mean, I'm a man, just because I didn't notice—"

"Stop," she interrupted, giving him a tired smile. "I know what you're doing. It's okay, really. I'm not gonna get all girly on you and cry or anything."

He tapped the steering wheel and changed the subject. "So, did you get any crap from the rest of the team?"

"Foreman was pleasantly and predictably unquestioning, though I would have told him, had he asked. The idea of you and me… it's just too weird to keep up with him."

He pulled up in front of her house and stopped the engine. "Yeah. It is," he said, suddenly without much conviction. He felt close to Cameron, now. He was actually starting to think that the idea of them being together wouldn't be so bad… He let the trail of thought go and refused to dwell on it, especially not while he was staying in her home. And her bed, with her in it, was only a couple of yards away from the couch…

He shook his head and got out, joining her on the path leading towards her apartment block. "And Chase?"

She grimaced and opened the front door. "Chase… was a different story. He was a little more… meddling." They ascended the stairs and headed along the corridor to her apartment, the shiny letter 'F' marking it as the door at the end.

"How so?"

She pulled out her keys and let them inside. "He demanded to know whether we were going out."

He shrugged off his coat and placed it on the back of the couch. "And you said?"

"I told him…" she seemed to choose her words carefully. "I told him it was none of his business, and that he should leave me alone, because my private life has nothing to do with him. Tea?"

Wilson flinched. "Harsh… and yeah, please." He ambled after her into the kitchen.

"Why was that harsh?" she asked, filling up the kettle. "It's true."

"Yes, it is. But he likes you. That's what makes it harsh."

She scoffed. "He'll get over it. If I said the same to Foreman, he'd get—"

"Yes, but Foreman doesn't look at you the way Chase does."

She turned to face him, eyes wide, and he held in a laugh.

"What?" she breathed.

"You have no idea what you can do, do you? I guess that's what makes you all the more appealing to him… he likes you. As in, _likes_ you. In girl talk, he has a crush on you."

She shook her head slowly. "No way… I told him—"

"You told him, yes. Did he listen, no. He's probably under the delusion that you'll one day come to your senses and realise what a great guy he is, and run off with him to Australia. Or that you're just not admitting about your true, raw feelings. As House says, everybody lies."

She scrunched up her nose and finally regained movement in her limbs, picking out two mugs from a cupboard. "That's just… great. I wish you hadn't told me. How will I work with him now?... Sugar?"

He shook his head. "Well, you'll probably just work with him how you have been for the past year—as friends. And if he tries to further anything, make it clear you're not interested."

The kettle clicked, signifying it was done, and she grimaced.

"Well, I think I sorta already made it clear. Today, when I told him it was none of his business, I didn't just tell him… I sorta yelled it at him. Plus a whole bunch of other stuff. None of it nice."

"Like what?" he asked curiously, accepting the tea she gave him.

"Um, like… how he's just a spoilt, needy rich kid, and how I'm not his property and how he looks for acceptance in women but never finds it…" she frowned and wrapped her hands around her mug. "I was really mean."

"Yeah, sounds like it. But all those things are true. Chase needed to hear them." He took a sip. "Better not let House know, though, or it'll ruin your nice-girl reputation. Plus, he'll probably start coming to you for his material."

"He was there. I don't know for how long, but he heard some of it."

"Well, there goes your reputation…"

"And the worst part is, now I feel guilty. I feel bad that I may have dented Chase's ego, or something…"

"Well, you could pretend you were high again…" Wilson offered.

She gave him an unimpressed look. "Yeah, that'll work." She shook her head. "Anyway. What's done is done. I'll just apologise tomorrow and—"

"No!" Wilson exclaimed sharply. "If you apologise, it'll be like you didn't mean it, like it was mistake of you say it to him. My advice? Don't say anything. Let him come to you. And even then, don't apologise. He'll get the picture."

"Are you sure?"

"Hey. I've had two, soon to be three, divorces, and many a fight in each of them. Arguments and apologies are my speciality."

She thought for a few minutes and smiled warmly at him. "Thanks, Wilson. You're a good listener."

"Just repaying the sentiment. Us nicies, we gotta stick together against the mean people of the world."

She laughed and yawned. "So true… I think I'm gonna catch an early night. See you in the morning?"

He nodded and she kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight."

He blinked, rubbing his cheek, and smiled slowly.

* * *

She awoke as soon as her alarm started buzzing, and headed towards the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. Considerably more awake, she went to the lounge, ready to wake Wilson again. To her surprise, though, he was already up and in the kitchen, in front of the stove. The table was set and the room smelt of cooking bacon.

He turned and carefully emptied out an even amount of scrambled eggs on two plates and noticed her standing there.

"Good morning," he greeted her, expertly flipping bacon next to the eggs.

"Good morning, indeed! What brought all this on?" she sniffed and sighed. "That smells so good… I haven't had a proper breakfast in ages."

He took the two plates to the table and pulled out her chair for her. "Today I pamper you, to thank you again for giving me a place to stay. No more cereal for you."

"I already told you, I—"

"Uh uh ah! No comments from you. Just sit and eat."

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't resist sampling the eggs. "Mmm… yum! These are fantastic!"

"As expected," he said, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Now… coffee or orange juice?"

"I have oranges?"

"Well… no. I went and bought most of these ingredients. But the offer's still there."

"Some orange juice would be great."

He pulled a jug of freshly-squeezed orange juice out from the fridge, and set it on the table before settling down himself. "Also, I want to take you out tonight. Somewhere nice."

She sighed and put down her fork. "James, I get that you're thankful, but you really don't—"

"But I do," he said quietly. "More than that. I want to. Allison, just let me do this. Please? And then I promise, after today, even if I stay for another few months—which, don't worry, won't actually be happening, I promise—I will never utter another 'thank you'. I just need to do something good, for someone who deserves it. Don't you ever get that feeling?"

She nodded reluctantly and he smiled. "Good. Now, I'm taking you somewhere nice, and the reservation's at seven thirty, so you may have to take a change of clothes to the hospital. Is that okay?"

"Yeah. Actually, that would be great. The last time I went out somewhere even vaguely nice was… with House. So, yes, as long as I never hear another grateful word come out of your mouth, you may take me out to dinner."

"Good." Satisfied, he began to attack his own food.

She secretly watched him, throwing glances at him while they ate in silence. It struck her how similar they were. He looked… He looked like she often felt when she did something nice for someone – satisfied, contented and pleased with himself.

The situation felt weird. It's not that she wasn't used to kindness – she knew she was nice, and often grew annoyed at her depth for it. The weird thing was that the nice deed was occurring to her. It was strange, she decided, but also good. She liked it. And she liked Wilson. She liked him more and more each day. That was the weirdest, most confusing thing.


	5. NO PAIN, NO GAIN

The last chapter I can re-load at the moment. The remaining five chapterswill be posted at a later date, hopefully soon (the things you do to avoid doing homework)... Anywho, enjoy and review review review!

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE – NO PAIN, NO GAIN**

Cameron followed Foreman into their newest patient's house. It was a thirty-six year-old male with unexplainable fever, rash and headaches, and House had sent them there to check for anything that may have caused it. Cameron started in the kitchen, while Foreman took the bathroom.

"So, what exactly are we supposed to be looking for?" Foreman called to her.

She looked on and under the sink. "Toxins, drugs, anything. Something that could have set off his symptoms."

She heard Foreman's sigh around the banging of drawers. "Like what? We're grabbing at straws."

"We're always grabbing at straws. And if sometimes we don't succeed, well, that's okay. Because I'd rather be grabbing at straws than be standing around doing nothing." She finished her search and passed him on the way to the bedroom. "Kitchen's clean."

"So's the bathroom." He crossed into the lounge. "I should have known you'd be on House's side."

"It's not about sides. It's about right and wrong. What we're doing here is right."

"Breaking into someone's home and going through their stuff, for something that may or may not be there, is right?"

She smiled to herself and searched in his wardrobe. "You know what I mean! On the off chance that we actually find something—"

"While I'm risking another mark on my record."

"—we might just find something that will save his life!"

She finished in his room and went to the laundry. Foreman joined her.

"The key word being 'might'. And don't tell me it's not about sides – it's always about sides, especially when House is involved."

She laughed as she inspected the man's laundry detergent. "This much is true."

Foreman turned and flashed a cheeky grin at her back. "Or maybe you'll start siding with Wilson, now."

She groaned and stood. "I _knew_ this was gonna come up. I'm just surprised you managed to wait until today to ask about it… There's nothing. It's not environmental. There's nothing here and he hardly ever even leaves his house."

"How do you know?"

"He's a writer – all his stuff is in his room. He gets home grocery delivery. Has an internet fridge that fixes everything for him. He only has about five pairs of clothing in his closet, four of them pajamas, one a worn, old tracksuit. One pair of slippers. Trust me, this guy doesn't get out much."

She led the way out of his house, and Foreman re-locked the door with their lifted key.

"Well, even though we didn't find anything, we still managed to narrow it down."

"Yeah, at least," she stripped her gloves off and stuffed them in her pocket, glad that he seemed to have forgotten about his question regarding Wilson. They got into the car and headed back to Princeton Plainsboro.

"I haven't forgotten," he said eventually.

"I should have known; you never forget anything. Okay, I'm gonna say this once. And you can believe me or not. Wilson is getting divorced from his wife. He was sleeping in his office. He didn't have anywhere else to go, so I offered him the couch at my place. The end."

"Okay, I believe you. What I wanna know is, if you're so reluctant to talk about it and sick of people asking, why didn't you both come in separate cars? Then no-one'd be any the wiser."

"House."

"House?"

She grinned. "I wanted him to think what everyone else is. I wanted a reaction."

"Oh… good one. And did you get a reaction?"

"Wilson did."

"A good one?"

"A good enough one."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know."

"Fine. Be like that. Don't share."

"Foreman, I truly don't know. I would tell you if I did. What, you think I wouldn't love to tell you if House fell to his knees and started begging Wilson to stop going out with me because he was in love with me and wanted to father my children?"

Foreman raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, you're right. You'd tell me if you knew."

"Exactly. But at the moment, I'm travelling blind. Just like I always am when it comes to House."

* * *

Inspecting herself critically in the bathroom mirror, Cameron sighed. She just couldn't get her hair to sit right. It was all sticking out on the left side. She growled at her reflection and yanked the clip out of her hair, frustratedly throwing it into the sink.

She wondered why she even cared. Why was she putting so much effort into her appearance? And for Wilson? He was just a friend, like he always had been. She was sure she was sure about that… but the prominent butterflies in her stomach told her otherwise.

Slowly blowing out a long breath, she closed her eyes. What was happening to her? Why was she thinking this way? It was so damn confusing! She hated this, she hated not knowing how she was feeling. She wasn't supposed to be feeling warm and fuzzy things towards anyone, bar House. Let alone Wilson. Wilson, his _best friend. _Pretty much his only friend. She felt like the world's biggest tart.

Behind her the door swung open and she gasped, startled. Cuddy entered, dressed in her tennis gear, and smiled.

"Doctor Cameron," she addressed her inferior. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"No, it's okay."

Cuddy put down her sports bag and moved up to the mirror next to Cameron. She eyed her closely. "You going out?"

"Yeah," Cameron answered, slightly embarrassed. "James… I mean, Wilson is taking me out to dinner. "

Cuddy raised an eyebrow. "James?"

"Yeah, well, you know, he's staying at my house, and he wanted to thank me for letting him stay and—"

Cuddy held up a hand. "Woah. Hey, you don't have to explain to me." She turned on the tap. "I'm only your boss."

Cameron smiled weakly as the hospital administrator splashed water onto her face.

"I didn't know you played tennis."

"Yeah, well, as you grow older you need to keep in shape somehow. Something you'll learn in time."

"What, running around after House isn't enough?"

"Unfortunately, no. So, twice a week I go to the club and play for a few hours."

"Oh. That's great." Cameron picked the clasp back up and tried to re-insert it in her hair.

"Yeah, well…" She watched Cameron struggle with her hair and smiled. "What exactly are you trying to do?"

"I don't know," Cameron admitted. "Something different, to… hold it up or something."

Cuddy studied her and motioned for the clip. "Here. I'll do it."

Cameron paused, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, one of my friends is a hair stylist. She taught me to do this stuff."

"Oh. Okay. Well, thanks."

She turned and bent awkwardly at the knees, patiently waiting until her boss was finished, gritting her teeth and ignoring the screaming pain in her calves and thighs. Whoever made up the statement 'no pain no gain' deserved to die a long and painful death… although they'd probably just gain from it.

Cuddy finally gave her hair one last pat and grunted in approval. "There. How's that? What you envisioned?"

Cameron focussed on her reflection in the mirror, inspecting it from every possible angle, and smiled. "Thanks. That's exactly what I wanted. You're good at this."

"Yeah, something to fall back on, huh? If I can't be the Dean of Medicine, why not a hairdresser?" She picked her bag back up. "This dinner with Wilson means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

Cameron frowned. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, look at you, you look fantastic! Your hair and make-up are perfect, and, if I do say so myself, with more than a little jealousy, your body and dress are also perfect."

Reddening, Cameron looked into Cuddy's eyes. "It's just dinner. He's thanking me," she repeated.

Cuddy smiled mischievously, eyes sparkling. "Uh huh." Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she frowned. "And Cameron? Just a bit of advice. Don't go parading this around in front of House too much, okay?"

"Well, I wasn't planning to, but… why?"

"Clueless are the young," Cuddy muttered, shaking her head. "Anyway. Have fun tonight. God knows, you both deserve it." She smiled again and promptly left.

Cameron frowned after her. "Thanks…"


	6. IMPRESSIONS AND DEPRESSIONS

Okay... so I managed to put up the next chapter sooner than expected... don't sue me, I was guesstimating. I really didn't expect to get back the same day and re-post... Anyway, here's chapter six, and it's a little short, but the rest'll follow soon enough... and that's a threat.

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**CHAPTER SIX – IMPRESSIONS AND DEPRESSIONS**

Cameron took a deep breath and poked her head into House's office.

"Hey. Do you need me for anything else tonight? I was gonna head home otherwise."

He didn't look up from his Game Boy. "Go. Be young, wild and free. Don't need you."

She almost sighed with relief. He wasn't looking, he wouldn't see her dressed up.

"Great. So I'll see you tomorrow." She turned back to the door.

"Wait."

She slowly rotated back around. He still hadn't looked up. Good.

A high-pitched squeak emanated from the tinny speakers of his console, and he grinned momentarily, seemingly forgetting he had called her back.

She nervously smoothed down her dress. "Doctor House?"

"I just… wanted to say…" he paused, obviously struggling for words. "Look, for some reason, Wilson seems to like your couch. Says it's comfortable, or something."

She blinked, and then it sunk in. He was thanking her for taking care of his friend. "You're welcome," she responded, relaxing. Just when she thought he really was the most callous man in existence, he turned around and did something—in his own, extremely unique, House-like way—to make her revise her opinion.

"Yeah, well, just make sure he stays on the couch. Two colleagues in a relationship is never a good idea."

She stiffened again, aware that he was also referring to her hopes of him and her. And then she went back to thinking of him as callous. "Well, I don't know," she responded haughtily. "Relationships are sometimes good to have. Of course, you haven't had one in a while, so you must've forgotten what they're like."

He finally paused the game and looked up at her, narrowing his eyes as he took in her attire. "You weren't thinking of going home. You're going on a date."

She grinned internally, documenting his expression in her mind. It had only lasted for a few seconds, but she knew she had seen it: a mixture of longing, jealousy and disappointment. She hadn't been completely wrong about his feelings for her.

"It's just a friendly dinner." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Your Cuddy impression is truly fascinating, but really, Cameron, when we play charades next time try not to be so obvious."

She frowned, confused, until she looked down and saw her that her crossed arms had caused her low-cut dress to gape slightly, exposing the tops of her breasts. She kept her hands planted where they were, refusing to let him beat her. "Well, the next time you attempt The Grinch you could at least wait until Christmas."

His eyes widened. "Me-ow! But you're lying. It's not just 'a friendly dinner.' You go on those all the time with Foreman and Chase, but you've never dressed up before."

"I'm going somewhere nice. I have to look the part."

"Who's taking you? Where?"

She opened her mouth to tell him it was none of his business, but was interrupted.

"Hey," Wilson said, pushing open the door. "Ready to go?"

House looked surprised, but he picked up his cane and stood. "Okay. Where?"

Wilson flashed him an apologetic look and turned to Cameron. "So, you all set?"

She nodded, thankful that he had relieved the growing tension. "Yeah. Let me just grab my purse."

She avoided looking at House and hurried into the conference room and to her desk, mindful not to leave the two men alone for too long. Grabbing her purse, she stepped back into House's office. "Okay. Ready."

"Great." Wilson placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her to the door. She could almost feel the daggers House was glaring at her pierce her skin and cut through her.


	7. BOWLING SHOE SYNDROME

Yay, chapter seven! And I actually managed to post it at a decent enought ime after chapter six... The opportune moment! How amazement. Hope you likie!

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**CHAPTER SEVEN – BOWLING SHOE SYNDROME**

"What's wrong?"

She stopped absently twirling the spaghetti around her fork and glanced up at Wilson. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I asked you what was wrong. You've been awfully quiet over dinner… you know this isn't a date, right? I'm not trying to get into your pants… well, dress… but the expression still stands. All I'm doing is sucking up to you for letting me crash."

She smiled at him reassuringly. "I know. I never thought you were. I understand."

"Well, then, what's wrong?" He looked into her eyes and read the expression in them. It was one he had seen many times. He sighed and put down his napkin. "House."

She shrugged. "I'm sorry. I know I said that he wouldn't affect me, but…"

"No apologies necessary. This time, _I_ understand." He smiled briefly and watched her, sitting back in his chair. "You really have got it bad. Do I take it there's a shrine in your apartment just waiting to be discovered?"

"Wilson… You know him better than anyone. Why…" she searched for the words but couldn't find them. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Because… because he's House. That's what he does. He's ambiguous, he's a puzzle. That's part of why you like him, isn't it?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. It is, I guess."

He leant forward and looked into her eyes. "He does like you."

"He sure has a funny way of showing it," she muttered.

"I know. But as I said, he's—"

"House. I know. But why do I keep putting myself through it? Why do I keep giving him chances, going to see him, being nice?"

"Sucker for punishment?"

"Sometimes I just get so sick of being nice! It's so expected, so predictable, so boring."

"I know. But you and I, we're the same. We can't help it. We care. Sometimes too much."

She sipped at her wine thoughtfully, regarding him. He just waited, knowing that if she wanted to add anything, she would.

"It's not just House," she said carefully, setting down her glass. She stared hard at it, as if expecting it to morph and skitter away. "There's something else, too."

"Something else?" He racked his brains, but come up with nothing that it could be.

"Yeah. And it's really confusing, because it's conflicting with the feelings I have about another person. And I thought that nothing would, because the other person is House."

"Oh." He frowned. "So, you're having feelings… romantic feelings… about someone other than House. But you're supposed to be head over heels in love with House… I see… but why tell me?"

She picked up her napkin and daintily dabbed at her lips. "Well, for a number **_of_** reasons. One, because it's very confusing and I need to talk about it. Two, because you're the only person I trust to talk to who will actually keep it secret. And three…" she trailed off and frowned into her food. "Three…"

Wilson leant forward, but she just kept staring at her carbonara. "Allison?"

"Three… because you _are_ the other person." She finally looked up at him, raw emotion on her pretty face.

Wilson took a moment to digest this and scratched his forehead. "Aha. I see."

"So, you know, I thought that I should… tell you. In case I start acting weird. And just know that I don't want or expect anything from you. You're rebounding, and I've got some mutated strain of Stockholm's Syndrome."

"So, you see me as your kidnapper?"

Despite the situation, she found herself laughing. "No! I just—"

"But you do see me as holding you hostage in your own house? Well, I suppose that's true, you're fed when I feed you, we only go out together, I watch you all day on the hospital's CCTV footage…"

She laughed harder, clapping a hand over her mouth and nose and stop from snorting out some very recently consumed wine. Managing to swallow, she gasped and coughed, eyes watering. He was out of his chair in a second, thumping her on the back in a well- practised move. He grabbed her glass of water and handed it to her, and she gulped it down, slowly calming herself.

"Okay now?" he asked, brown eyes concerned.

She nodded and he pulled her up, aware of the curious looks from the other patrons.

"What say we leave now?" he asked, and she nodded again. He signalled for the bill and paid, and they left the restaurant.

"Where would you like to go now? Home, or somewhere else? Coffee?"

"Um… I don't know. I'm still a little hungry, and I'm not tired yet, so how about…?" she looked at him hopefully.

"Okay. I know a good twenty-four hour feeding ground."

* * *

She looked at him in surprise as they pulled up outside a bowling alley.

"Bowling? You're taking me bowling?"

"Not unless you want to. The hotdogs here are the best around for miles. We don't have to bowl."

She considered. "No, actually, I want to. I don't even remember the last time I went."

"Okay, but be warned… I'm deadly in a pair of bowling shoes."

She scoffed and raised an eyebrow. "Obviously, you haven't seen me in action."

"Was that a challenge?"

"Yes."

"Well, then. Can't deny a challenge. Let's go." He reached for the door handle, but Cameron grabbed his arm.

"James. What I said—"

He held up a hand to stop her and smiled. "Later. It can wait."

* * *

"No fair! You only won because you had the right shoe size!" he insisted grumpily, untying his shoes.

"Yeah, that excuse worked the first time. But the other two times? Get over it. I beat you fair and square, three times in a row. The only deadly thing about your bowling shoes is their smell." She grinned and tied her two pairs of laces together before slipping her heels back on and standing, holding out her hand for his shoes.

He grudgingly handed them over and they took them back up to the counter.

"Food now?" she offered.

"Yeah. But you're paying." He now seemed quite happy about the fact that he no longer had to be nice.

She cooed at him and ordered two hot dogs and fries before turning back to him. "Aww, I'm sorry if I hurt your ego by winning. I promise not to tell anyone about it. Your dignity shall remain intact."

Wilson looked horrified for a moment. "What if House found out? I'd never hear the end of it…"

She laughed and patted his arm. "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. Just don't be surprised if I use it against you and attempt blackmail every now and then." She accepted their food and took it to a table, James trailing behind her.

"You? Blackmail? I am loathe to include the two in the same sentence. I would not taint your name with such a blasphemous action!"

"Oh, please. Eat your food." She bit into her hot dog and looked impressed. "Wow, woo wew riwf! Thif ith gray!"

"And the Pig-to-English translation of that would be…"

She swallowed. "You were right. This is great!"

He swelled with pride. "What did I tell you? I have yet to teach you the implicit details of the culinary field, young Padawan, but you can be taught!"

"Yeah… but I still beat you."

He sagged again. "Way to beat a man while he's down." He shoved some fries into his mouth and sighed.

They sat in companionable silence until Wilson finished his food and wiped his fingers, pushing the plastic container aside. "About what you said before…"

"No, it's okay. It was stupid. I'll get over it. I shouldn't even have said anything."

"Maybe not. But I need to know why."

She nodded. "Fair enough. I can't just say it and expect you take it, no questions." She stacked her container on his and frowned, searching for an explanation. "I realised how good it felt with you. How you make me feel good about myself, and how you make me laugh. Before I've fallen asleep for the past couple of nights, I've been thinking about you, and not House. And that's confusing. And different. And it made me realise that I was… feeling. Things." Uncomfortably shifting in her seat, she twisted a napkin between her fingers. "Different things. About you. More than just friendly things. Possible romantic entanglement… things."

"Right," he said eventually. "And that would be difficult. Since I'm staying with you. And I'm getting a divorce. And you're in love another man. And he likes you back, but he'll never admit it in a million years. And I'm his best friend. And we all work together. And if House found out…" He grimaced. "I'd rather not think about it."

She nodded again. "Exactly."

"So you, what, thought it would be _easier_ if you told me this?"

"I know. At the time, it seemed to make sense. There was some logic in there."

"So. I guess there's only one more thing to divulge."

"What's that?"

"How I feel about you."

She took a deep breath before asking. "How… _do_ you feel about me?"

He looked into her eyes and said truthfully, "I like you. House, divorce and work aside? I… Allison, I'm beginning to like you. As a… possible romantic entanglement."

"So… What do we do?"

"I don't know."

She moved to sit next to him. "But… House, divorce and work aside. Do you think… I mean, would you… and me?"

"I think so."

She smiled gently and leant forward, and his heart palpitated at double speed. Until he remembered everything else. He pulled away, and she looked hurt.

"House," he reminded her, looking down at the table.

"Right. And your divorce and work… But House is our main concern, isn't he?"

"Isn't he always?"

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Oh, and PS- In case anyone thought I was just being adumb Aussie, the whole ESPN thing is just a joke. I know it's supposed to be ESP, it's just something I actually heard someone say once, and I thought it was funny. Anyway, thanks! 


	8. ALL YOU NEED IS SCOTCH

Chapter eight- just a short one, andonly two more left after this! Gasp! Hope it's all enjoyable! Please review... if you can be bothered... Please?

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**CHAPTER EIGHT – ALL YOU NEED IS SCOTCH**

House reclined in his armchair and stared at the ceiling. Things were not going as he had planned. It wasn't supposed to end up this way: Cameron and Wilson were not supposed to be… well… Whatever they were doing, they just weren't supposed to be doing it. Cameron was _his_, _his_ employee, to look at and tease and flirt with and… maybe, possibly, eventually become serious with. She was in love with _him_, not Wilson, and she was meant to be around, for and with, House… not Wilson.

It wasn't fair. Wilson had already had three wives, and House had had none. How come he got Cameron as well? If you followed the law of averages, it should be _his_ turn. Not Wilson's.

And, similarly, Wilson was his, too. _Not_ Cameron's. Cameron had her own friends, why did she have to take _his_ only one as well?

He grunted and swigged some scotch. He knew he wasn't being fair – it was his fault, and his completely, that nothing had happened with Cameron. He had pushed her away, and for what, or who? Stacy? They were never going to work, that had been made perfectly clear. They were both too stubborn, too unwilling to change. Plus, their track record wasn't all that great, and he wasn't even sure he really loved her anymore; it was his male need to be right and his 'if I can't have her, nobody can' attitude that made him go after her.

And now Cameron, his Cameron, was gone. Straight into the arms of his best friend. Some best friend. Wilson knew that House liked Cameron, knew that he was just (well, maybe just) waiting until he was ready before taking the plunge, but he still went ahead and…

He had probably even used his own advice to House on Cameron: _'Open doors for her, help her with her chair… comment on her shoes, her earrings, then move on to DHS: her dreams, hopes and aspirations. Trust me. Panty peeler.'_

House pulled a face: the idea of Wilson—in fact, anyone else but him—peeling off Cameron's panties made him want to vomit.

Shaking his head and finishing his drink, he got up to pour another. Oh, well. Maybe it was for the best. He didn't people, anyway. If that was how long Cameron's supposed 'love' lasted, then who needed her? And if that was all it took for Wilson to disregard so many years of friendship, then who needed him? No, he didn't need anyone. All he needed was his scotch. Especially when it blocked out all the hurt.

Restless, he paced his lounge room, brow creased in thought. What would he do now? Of course, this occasion provided a million more topics that could be used to annoy the couple, but did he really want to think about that stuff? Did he want to think about the way Wilson and Cameron would—

There was a knock on his door, interrupting his train of thought. Annoyed, he hobbled to the door, not bothering to look through the peephole. It was probably just some idiot trying to make him change his phone service, or someone selling make-up, or—

He opened the door and blinked.

Or Cameron.

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What will happen? Who will Cameron end up with? Tune in and find out next time in, 'The Truth About ESPN'! 


	9. MY OWN PERSONAL KRYPTONITE

Well, this is the second last chapter, and a short one. It's taken me ages to find the time to put it up (school is wrapping up for the semester, and it's hectic- especially since I left everything till the last minute. Ooops!), but here it is! A present for everyone!

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**CHAPTER NINE – MY OWN PERSONAL KRYPTONITE**

Wilson tapped the steering wheel nervously, trying to see into House's building, willing himself to acquire some form of x-ray vision. He felt so helpless, so stupid and worthless and… he was a betrayer.

He had let it happen again: again, a pretty woman was going to wreck a relationship. And not just any relationship, the only one he had ever given a damn about. He was now betraying the one and only person he had ever truly given a crap about with the woman that his said friend pretended not to give crap about, but did… He was going to go off with the woman his best friend loved. Because Wilson was sure that, in some form or other, in some strength or other, House loved her. And if she and Wilson got together… House would be betrayed again. Would he be able to handle that? Would he be able to handle the betrayal and the loss of the only two people left who got him, who really, truly understood him?

Probably not. If Wilson was telling himself the truth, he knew that there was the very real possibility that this would push his friend over the edge.

Wilson wrapped his fingers tightly around the steering wheel, suddenly feeling the great urge to throttle something.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't do it to his friend. No matter what happened in there between House and Cameron tonight, he couldn't just neglect his best friend's feelings like that. No matter how he was feeling about Allison himself. It just wasn't fair.

He would apologise to Allison, tell her he couldn't do it. She would understand, she always understood. It was the way she was.

They shouldn't even have come tonight. It was a bad idea, though one that had seemed good at the time. But if he had come to his senses sooner, he would have realised that he couldn't do it sooner, he could have told Cameron they couldn't be sooner, and House would be none the wiser. He had been so caught up in Stacy recently that James and Cameron had only been on the very periphery of his thoughts. So he mightn't even have known. And that would have spared them all a lot of pain.

Staring at House's house again, he felt his anger at himself grow. God, he was stupid. He was one of the most stupid people on the planet. No wonder he couldn't hold a relationship together, when he kept making stupid, moronic, idiotic decisions! No wonder he always ended up alone.

Except for House. House was always there.

But this time, he didn't know if he would be. Not after this.

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Den den dennnn! Hope you enjoyed! Review please! 


	10. POOBAH EXTROADINAIRE

The last chapter! Sob! I'm so sentimetal about this fic... Sigh. Enjoy it, as I hope that you've enjoyed them all, then tell me how **much** you enjoyed it by giving me a review! I'll love you forever... I may even write a sequel... Maybe. **

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**CHAPTER TEN – POO-BAH EXTROADINAIRE**

"Hey," she said quietly. "May I come in? It's, ah… a little cold out here."

House wordlessly pulled the door open wider and went over to the piano, sitting down to face her. Cameron entered and closed the door behind her, putting her jacket over the back of his recliner.

"Sorta like déjà vu," she commented, attempting to ease the tension.

"Sorta. Are you planning to quit again?"

"No. Not unless you want me to."

He fished his Vicodin out of his pocket and popped one. "And why would I want that? Just because you stuffed up that MRI? Pfff, I've forgiven Chase for worse than that!"

Her eyes flashed. "I didn't stuff that up, Foreman did, I told you that! And you haven't forgiven Chase for anything; you keep bringing up that stupid angiogram from months ago!" She stopped abruptly and calmed herself, noticing that she was getting sucked into his game.

"So," he said, slamming his glass onto the top of the piano. "What brings you here? Wilson send you to check up on me, or did you come out of your _own_ niceness?"

"I… we both agreed that one of us should come to see you."

"And you drew the short straw?"

"No. I insisted. I wanted to come."

"Well, wow, don't I feel special?"

"House, please. I'm trying to explain here, I just…"

"Fine. Explain away. I'm all ears."

She sighed. "How is it that you always manage to sound sarcastic?"

"Part of my charm."

"Yeah…" she perched on the edge of his footstool awkwardly and clasped her hands in her lap, clearing her throat. "Ahem… I'm sure you've noticed… I mean, you've heard, and you talked to Wilson… anyway, as you know, Wilson is staying at my house…"

"Are you here solely to tell me things I already know, or is there something new on the horizon somewhere?"

"House… Wilson and I… we like each other. And, we both care about you, and we don't—"

"Ohhhh, you and Wilson!" he exclaimed, fake-happily. "You're just tooo nice! Thinking of me right before you go and have sex! Really, I'm flattered."

"We're just concerned, because he's your best friend, and I'm… well, I'm close to you. Too. And the last thing we would want to do is hurt—"

"Hurt me? Please, Cameron, your private life has nothing to do with me, no matter how much I like to know what's going on in it. And Wilson? He's had so many girlfriends, I don't remember all of them. I don't even remember his wives' names." He got up to re-fill his glass, turning his back to her. He could feel another comment, something mean, bubbling up, ready to burst forth. He tried to push it down, but he couldn't help it, he had to just say it: "You'll probably just be another notch on his belt, anyhow."

He didn't have to turn around to see how hurt and angry she was as she got up and collected herself. "Right," she said crisply. "Fine. I'm glad we sorted that out. I'll see you at work."

He heard her walk over and open the door, and he sighed. "Wait." He turned back to her and saw that she had frozen at the door while it was still open. Putting down his drink, he limped to the door and shut it, standing in front of her.

"Do you still… like me?" he said softly, cringing internally, hating how vulnerable and, well, _caring_ he sounded.

She refused to look up at him. "No," she whispered.

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want… Wilson's waiting in the car." She reached for the door handle again, but he shifted and stood in her way.

"So, what, he cooks you pasta extraordinaire, takes you out to fancy dinner and talks about his feelings and suddenly he's the new poo-bah?"

"He actually cares about me!"

He looked down at his shoes. "I care about you."

She softened a little. "I know. But… that's not enough for me. I need more. I deserve more."

He reached down and tilted her chin up, looking into her eyes. "I know."

Then, before he even really registered what he was doing, he leant down and planted a kiss on her lips. She instantly responded, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him back, pushing her body into his, against the door. His leg yelped in protest but he ignored it. Now wasn't the time to pay attention to minor trivialities.

When he finally pulled away, he realised she was trembling. Trembling? What the hell for? And then he looked back into her eyes and saw happiness, a happiness he hadn't seen in her for months. And _he_ had done that to her. _Him_. Maybe… maybe she really did love him…

"So," she mumbled, pulling on the collar of his t-shirt. "I guess you're still the poo-bah."

And that comment reminded them both of Wilson. Who was waiting faithfully outside, in the car. Who was the cause of their sudden awkwardness and guilt.

Cameron stepped back, shoving her hands in her pockets and biting her lip.

"Hmm…" House rubbed at his stubbled chin. "Problem."

"Um. Yeah. I just, um… I have to go."

This time, he stepped aside to let her through and closed the door after her.

He tilted his head, eyes focussing on her jacket, still over the back of his chair. "Huh."

* * *

So, that's the end... Cruel to leave you hanging, I know... but that's a perfect place to finish! He he! I love you all, my readers! Sayonara! 


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